


We might have a problem

by hpjk_addict



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alpha Alfie Solomons, Alpha/Omega, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Tommy Shelby, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpjk_addict/pseuds/hpjk_addict
Summary: Tommy has been successfully hiding (and denying) the fact that he is an omega all his life. Then he finds out that he is with child and he doesn't take it well.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the retching that takes him by surprise. Hunching over the sink and heaving in the aftermath of what proved to be a long and violent attack of puking, Tommy is blinking rapidly in the grey morning light, trying to clear his head and to stop his body from trembling.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears Polly’s voice.

“What’s going on?” she asks sharply, making him wince at how loud she sounds.

“Nothing’s going on, Pol,” he says wearily into the expectant silence, looking down at his hands gripping the sink: they’re shaking. He’s covered in a sheen of cold sweat and his head is feeling woozy, which is nothing unusual – except that he has just been sick for a quarter of an hour, which is… worrisome.

He’s feeling too weak to deal with his aunt’s sharp eye and nose at the moment, but he knows that he’ll have to face her eventually, so he pulls himself together and turns around.

“Go back to bed, Pol,” he says, rubbing a hand across his mouth before dropping it to his side. He was aiming for casual and dismissive but his voice came out hoarse and broken.

Fuck.

Polly, her gaze sweeping him from head to foot and taking stock of everything in a split second the way only she can, is now staring at him as though he had put a bullet through a horse right here in the kitchen: there’s shock and there’s disapproval and then there’s something like horror.

“Thomas, what have you done?” she asks in a high-pitched voice that startles him.

Why does she sound so terrified?

He blinks at her. “What are you talking about, Pol?” He feels like lying down right about now. The floor looks inviting enough. Then he actually slips down a few inches before he can catch himself and lean as casually as possible against the sink, crossing his arms on his chest.

Bile is coming up to his throat again.

“Who did you tell?”

Tommy frowns.

“Tell – what?”

Polly narrows her eyes and stalks towards him. Panicking, Tommy scrambles backwards before he can stop himself; he doesn’t want her to get a whiff of… well…  _ that. _

“Who else knows, Tommy?” she hisses, leaving very little room between them despite his best efforts. 

Then she starts hitting him. Tommy raises his arms to fend her off. He wonders if he has puked his brains out because he has no idea what Polly’s on about.

“What is your fucking problem, Pol?” he spits out when she finally takes a step back; she’s breathing heavily, glaring at him.

“Your bloody stupidity apparently,” she tells him and Tommy stares at her in surprise, because he is many things but no one can accuse him of being stupid.

“Tommy, this is serious,” she says, now patting her hair back into place as she is visibly trying to compose herself. “It could be bad for business, you know that. I never knew you to slip up before. What happened? Did you go into heat?”

Tommy blinks and goes rigid, feeling as though all breath has been knocked out of him. For a moment he thinks that he has misheard her. They never talk about it, pretending that there’s nothing to talk about. No one knows apart from her and Arthur. So why would she bring it up now? He grips the sink behind him, telling himself not to bolt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Polly?” he hisses back instead, just as quietly but rather more furiously. “I haven’t had my heat since I was twelve and you took me to Wales to take care of it,” he reminds her.  _ Gypsy witchcraft _ , she told him at the time.  _ It will take care of your heats and your scent. No one will know what you are, Tommy. _

“Then how do you explain  _ this _ ?” she asks, stretching out her hand.

He slaps her hand away before she has a chance to place it on his abdomen but the significance of the gesture is not lost on him.

Suddenly there’s loud pounding in his ears and not enough air in his lungs and the floor is going from underneath his feet so fast he finds himself sitting down at the table with Polly’s help before he knows it.

Tommy’s mind is reeling.

This is bad. This is really fucking bad. If anyone finds out what he is or that he is up the duff – and you can trust Polly to know these things – everything he has been working so hard for will be for nothing. No one will take him seriously as a businessman ever again. It will be bad for business all right. 

Polly is already fussing with cups and teapots, apparently making some particularly pungent-smelling tea.

“It’ll settle your nerves,” she says, turning around and looking softly at him. “Your stomach too. For now.”

Tommy doesn’t need her sympathy or understanding and he certainly doesn’t need her  _ tea _ of all things.

He needs to think. He needs to get out of here.

He gets to his feet, unprepared for an overwhelming wave of dizziness or for Polly’s hand holding a kitchen knife in his face.

“You are not going anywhere, Thomas,” she says coldly. “Not until you’ve had your tea and we’ve cleared this matter up.”

“Or what?” he asks but there’s no real heat in his voice as he sits down with as much dignity as he can manage. Suddenly, he is too exhausted to argue or fight. How could he have messed up so badly?

“ _ Rum’s for fun and fucking, innit? _ ” Alfie Solomons’ words ring in his ears. Too much fucking rum, thinks Tommy bitterly. Only he doesn’t want to think about rum or fucking or Alfie Solomons, because that’s what got him into this mess in the first place.

Tommy rubs his eyes.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck! _

“Here,” says Polly, placing the cup before him. “Drink this.”

Tommy glares at the cup.

Polly snorts. “Try not to turn it to ice.”

“I hope it tastes better than it smells,” he mutters disdainfully.

Polly cuffs him on the back of his head. “Shut up and drink.”

Tommy takes a slow sip, knowing that as soon as he drains the cup, Polly will want to know the fucking details, so he thinks that if he drags it out long enough someone might finally wake up and join them.

Why is no one else awake in this fucking house?

His cup is empty before any rescue comes. But Tommy knows better than to wait for the cavalry. He puts down the cup, leans against the back of his chair and looks at Polly, one eyebrow raised. Suddenly he realizes that he is much calmer. He looks at his hands: they're not shaking anymore. He looks up and catches Polly’s knowing look. It makes him irrationally angry.

“What do you want to know?” he asks impatiently; insolently.

Polly raises an eyebrow at his tone of voice but doesn’t remark on it. “Do you know who the father is?” she asks instead.

Tommy just stares. He can’t believe she has just asked him that. Holding her gaze, he reaches for a cigarette case lying on the table and takes his time lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. 

“Why would you ask me that?” he says when the pause has stretched long enough, slowly blowing smoke through his nose. “What is it that you think I’ve been doing?”

Polly gives him a hard look. “Frankly, I don’t know what to think, Thomas,” she says, taking a cigarette too. “I don't bloody know what you’ve been doing! You don’t tell anyone anything these days. You just give out orders and expect us to obey. We barely see you because you are never around and when you are around it makes little difference. For all I know you’ve been – ”

Tommy raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve been – what, Pol?”

Polly takes a deep breath. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in London, Tommy,” she says softly.

Tommy looks at her in disbelief. “So, what, you think I’ve been fucking my way through London, is that it?” He shakes his head. “I suppose racetracks and clubs and casinos and everything else is just a side gig, eh? Who needs any of that when you are a fucking  _ omega _ – ” he spits the word out “ – and can make real money on your back, right?”

Polly clucks her tongue. 

“I know you, Tommy. I know that you hold nothing sacred. I know that you would sell yourself and your next of kin if you thought it could be good for business. So my question stands: Do you know who the father of your child is or was it just a random cock you fucked for information or whatever it is you fuck people for these days?”

Tommy can’t help the flinch. Not because she pretty much calls him a whore. Everyone’s a whore, after all. They just sell different parts of themselves. But because she talks about the father of his child as though it is the most natural thing in the world, which it most certainly isn’t.

“Yes!” he snaps in the end, goaded into speaking by her silence. “I know who the –  _ fuck _ – I know, all right, Polly! I know!”

He really doesn’t want to think about it.

Polly raises an eyebrow, languidly flicking the ash on the floor. “Well, that’s something, I suppose,” she comments. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know what you are.”

Tommy shakes his head.

“Are you planning on telling him?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow and gives her a look that eloquently conveys what he thinks about her question.

“Of course you know what that means,” Polly adds.

“What?”

Polly raises an eyebrow. Tommy stares at her. “What does it mean?” he snaps at last, because she doesn’t say anything. Again. “Polly, what does it mean?” He doesn’t have time or patience for this.

“Tommy!” she says sharply; now she’s staring at him in disbelief. “If you didn’t go into heat but ended up with a baby,” she says quietly, “you know what that means… you must know… I know you’ve been denying the fact that you are an omega all your life, but even you can’t be that ignorant about your own biology!”

It hits him then. He stands up so fast dizziness doesn’t have time to catch up with him this time. His heart is hammering in his chest so hard it fucking hurts. He is so fucked.

He needs to get out of here and fucking think...

“What are you going to do?” asks Polly, looking worriedly at him.

“I’m going to deal with it,” he grits out and stalks towards the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Tommy,” she warns him just as he slams the door shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy is huddling in his coat when the door finally opens and he looks up at the alpha standing in the doorway with his arms crossed on his chest.

“Hello, Alfie.”

His voice is low and raspy. His teeth are rattling and his body is shaking. His condition has been getting worse and worse since their meeting in the morning.

Alfie looks down at him as though contemplating whether to let him in or to shut the door in his face and there’s no saying which it will be.

Tommy fears that he just might go with shutting the door in his face and he experiences what can only be described as a panic attack. He can’t breathe because there are iron bands that suddenly constrict his chest and his heart is beating so hard it might burst forth. He’s gasping for air and holding onto the railing with a trembling hand, cursing his body for betraying him like that, when Alfie finally breaks the silence.

“You look awful, mate,” he says, shaking his head. “A right fucking mess you are. Well? What are you waiting for? Get inside before you collapse on my fucking doorstep or something.”

Tommy lurches forward and promptly stumbles over the threshold. Alfie catches him before Tommy can completely disgrace himself by sprawling at his feet, but Tommy doesn’t care about that because he’s wrapped in a warm embrace and that’s all that matters.

“So, just out of curiosity, right, what did you think was going to happen?” asks Alfie when they are seated on a sofa in his drawing room. Tommy is practically sitting in Alfie’s lap, still in his coat, shivering in his arms, his nose pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent.

“Not now, Alfie,” he moans groggily; the alpha’s scent is both soothing and intoxicating and he can’t get enough of it. He can’t quite remember now why he thought it was a good idea to avoid it during all these months. 

“Not now, eh?” growls Alfie. “Not fucking now?”

He grabs Tommy around the neck and pulls him away. Tommy lets out a distraught mewl that would make him shoot himself if he was aware of producing it.

“Explain this to me, Tommy,” says Alfie, shaking him like an unruly kitten until Tommy is looking him in the eye; there's a storm brewing in Alfie’s. “So you find out that we’re mates, right, but, for reasons best known to you and you alone, instead of coming to me, yeah, you set off across the country to look for some magic cure, and now that you’ve discovered that there isn’t one, you have the fucking nerve to show up at my door and latch onto my neck like a bloody leech and when I want to understand, to figure out, yeah, what was going on in that head of yours when you decided on that particular course of action, you fucking tell me  _ not now _ ?”

Their noses are almost touching by the time Alfie finishes his speech and that should be good, but his voice is too angry and too loud and Tommy wants to bury his face in the crook of his neck and soothe him with his scent, because that’s what good omegas do when their alphas are angry, right? Only he doesn’t quite know what it’s like to be a good omega...

He tries to place his hands on Alfie’s chest, but Alfie pushes his hands away with an angry huff, once again holding him at an arm’s length, and, ultimately, Tommy finds that it’s easier to think when his nose isn’t pressed against Alfie’s neck, though, admittedly, the hand wrapped tightly around his neck, holding him in place, makes him want to go down on his knees and submit.

But for all that his instincts are currently locked in a ferocious fight with his common sense, his head is clear enough to remember that Alfie has crossed him. “You sold me out to Sabini,” he reminds him. “Why would I trust you with something like that?”

“Nah, mate,” replies Alfie with a wave of his hand. “Got your attention, innit? Wouldn't have to if you came to me in the first place, see. So riddle me this, sweetie: what did you think to accomplish with that little detour of yours? Did you really think that you could defy nature and bend it to your will out of sheer obstinacy? Tommy fucking Shelby expecting nature to bow before him! Does your arrogance know no bounds?”

“I couldn’t let it ruin my fucking life, Alfie, all right?” snarls Tommy.

Alfie snorts. “So how’s that working out for you, then? Is this better?” He jabs him painfully in the chest. “Having no control over your needs is better? Having no choice? Being driven to the very brink of madness by need?” Alfie shakes his head. “Look at yourself, Tommy, shaking here like a fucking junkie. Was it worth it, eh?”

“Alfie, please, I need – ”

"I know what you fucking need, mate. The question is why should I give you what you need after that stunt you’ve pulled?"

Tommy is looking at him with eyes that are bigger and brighter than ever, a feverish flush on his cheeks, his arms outstretched towards him.

“Because… because you’re my mate,” he whispers hoarsely, tangling his fingers with the buttons of Alfie’s shirt. “You’re my alpha.”

Alfie laughs. “Fuck off, Tommy. I’m your mate and your alpha? Right. So what has fucking changed?”

Tommy leans forward, pressing his forehead into the crook of Alfie’s neck. It’s covered in beads of sweat. Alfie curses and relents, easing the pressure around Tommy’s neck, turning it into a caress.

“I tried everything I could,” mumbles Tommy, breathing in his scent and unbuttoning his shirt. “I need you. I need you to fix this. I… ” He swallows. “I can’t do it on my own after all.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy…”

Alfie knows that things must be truly bad if Tommy admits defeat. He rakes his fingers through Tommy’s hair, pulling him into a hug. Tommy can deny his nature all he wants but his denial alone doesn’t change the fact that he is an omega and omegas have needs, especially omegas in his condition. But Tommy is a stubborn bastard who thought that he could change that, because he is Tommy fucking Shelby.

“Silly boy,” he mutters, his chin resting on top of Tommy’s head. “Did you think your gypsy witchcraft would help you?”

“It helped with the heats and the scent,” mumbles Tommy, closing his eyes, feeling Alfie’s warmth and calm settling over him.

“Did it, really, though? Did it? Right, tell me this then... Did it make you any less striking or desirable? Hm?”

Tommy reluctantly opens his eyes. He looks up with a frown. “What are you saying, Alfie? That everyone knows?”

He can’t quite keep the dread from entering his voice – not now when his defences are down – but it is dispelled almost at once when Alfie starts rubbing his hand across his back.

“Nah,” he tells him comfortably. “I bet they are all too scared of you to even imagine such a thing. I’m guessing those who knew, yeah, lost their eyes and tongues a long time ago. No one would dare to think that Tommy fucking Shelby is an omega.”

“What about you?” asks Tommy. “Did you know?”

Alfie chuckles. “Sweetie, I would have to be stupid and blind, yeah, not to see all the obvious signs. I won’t deny that you do a great fucking job appearing bigger and more intimidating than any other omega I have ever seen, but I had no doubt once we started fucking.”

“But did you know that this – ” Tommy makes a vague motion with his hand between them “– would happen?”

“Well, now, I gotta admit, even I couldn’t have predicted that. During our first meeting…” Alfie shakes his head. “The state of you, Tommy, remember? I thought you would bleed out on my fucking desk. It struck something within me, yeah, it did, protective-like, you know, seeing such a pretty little thing crushed like that – like a broken birdie you were with those huge bloodshot eyes staring unblinkingly at me – but I had no idea at the time that my wanting to take you in my arms and keep you safe from the rest of the world meant anything other than me simply wanting to fucking own you. It took a while to figure out that conundrum.”

Tommy nods, his hands are splayed on Alfie’s bare chest. “We should get more comfortable,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Comfortable, eh?”

“We’re gonna fuck.”

Alfie’s shirt is unbuttoned and Tommy’s hands are pushing him down when Alfie catches his wrists, halting him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

Tommy looks genuinely confused. Alfie makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat.

“You’re still wearing your coat, sweetheart. I hope you’re not hiding any more hand grenades anywhere on you, because let me tell you, mate, you look about ready to explode as it is.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Don’t mind the coat,” he says. “The coat stays.”

“Tommy, if the coat stays, then the coat stays, but you will have to ask the coat to fuck you then,” says Alfie. “If you want me to fuck you, then the coat goes. It’s non-fucking-negotiable.”

Tommy licks his lips, looking torn and aggrieved and horny at the same time. He narrows his eyes and glares at Alfie, which makes Alfie laugh. Now Tommy looks betrayed. He tries to disengage himself from Alfie, but ends up squished against the bigger man’s chest.

“You are something else, you know that?” chuckles Alfie. 

“Fuck off,” mutters Tommy, rubbing his cheek against Alfie’s bare chest. Why does he have to be so bloody difficult about it?

“I will make it easy for you,” says Alfie, combing his fingers through Tommy’s hair.

Tommy snorts. “I doubt that.” Then moves his head to indicate that Alfie should continue doing what he was doing.

“I’m wounded, treacle. Here I was, right, trying to ease your mind by telling you that you don’t have to keep up this ridiculous charade with the coat as though it can hide the very pronounced fact of your interesting condition – ”

Tommy goes very still – then sits up.

“I don’t know what you – ”

“Tommy, I would think twice, right, before lying to my fucking face about the fact that you are with my – ”

Tommy lets out a snarl and kisses him. “Shh, Alfie, stop talking, please, just stop talking,” he murmurs into the kiss whenever Alfie tries to speak. 

“Right,” says Alfie much later, scratching his beard and studying the top of Tommy’s head; the rest of him is hidden on his chest. “I didn’t mention anything in the morning, because business is business, yeah?”

“Alfie, let’s just fuck,” mutters Tommy.

“Nah, mate, not until you take off your coat and the rest of your fancy clothes, stand in front of the mirror and take a good fucking look at yourself.”

Tommy shakes his head.

He can’t do that. He can’t.

Alfie doesn’t say anything for a long time, just holds Tommy with one arm and rubs his back with another until Tommy relaxes and melts into him, breathing in his scent, soaking in his warmth, accepting his comfort. Exactly what he needs after starving himself for so long. Not that he will ever admit that out loud, of course.

“I think we might have a problem here, Tommy,” says Alfie at length.

“I’m working on it,” murmurs Tommy. “Just… just give me time.”

Alfie snorts. “I’m not the one with the problem.”

“You will be if you tell anyone about it,” threatens Tommy. He briefly lifts his head from its place above Alfie’s heart to catch his eye. “I mean it, Alfie. You don’t tell a fucking soul about it.”

Alfie looks amused. “Or what, sweetie?”

“Or I fucking shoot you.”


	3. Chapter 3

The coat comes off at night. At least, Tommy assumes that it’s night, because it’s dark in the room. His head is resting on Alfie’s chest and he can feel him breathing peacefully underneath him. Tommy, on the other hand, is anything but peaceful. He’s hot and sweaty and seconds away from being suffocated by his own outerwear, aided and abetted by the rest of his clothes.

He lifts himself up and struggles to get out of the heavy thing without disturbing the man he’s half-lying on top of, which soon becomes a problem, because he finds that he’s so wound-up and frantic he can’t do it. Alfie shifts and grunts in his sleep and Tommy stops, waits for him to settle down, then starts again.

It shouldn’t be that difficult.

“You need help, treacle?” asks Alfie in a sleepy voice, rubbing his eyes, and Tommy freezes in an awkward position: hunching over him, his hands are stuck inside his coat sleeves at uncomfortable angles.

“No.”

The couch creaks at the same time as Alfie’s chest rumbles with laughter.

“Yeah, you do, mate, you fucking do. Even if you’re not ready to admit it. Problem is that they haven’t invented a doctor who can cure all your problems yet. So how about we start with the simple things, yeah?”

“Like what?” asks Tommy.

“Like you will calm the fuck down and let me help you.”

Tommy is considering his options, but at this point the odds of him getting out of his coat with his dignity and arms intact are not looking good.

“Fine,” he says, making it sound as though he’s doing Alfie a favour.

Alfie snorts but doesn’t point out the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Tommy huffs and waits and then nudges him with his knee, almost toppling over in the process but managing to hold his ground at the last moment. “Well?” he spits out. “I thought you wanted to help?”

“Right,” grunts Alfie, moving into a sitting position. “Right fucking now I want to shoot you in your fucking face, mate. Acting like a fucking child!”

Tommy glares at him in the dark. Alfie gets to his feet and drags Tommy up with him.

“Now what?” asks Tommy, raising an eyebrow.

“ _ 'Now what' _ he asks...” Alfie shakes his head. “Comes into my house and tells me what to do.” He grabs Tommy by the shoulders and pulls the coat down with enough force to knock over a horse-drawn cart. The tearing sound that punctures the room tells Tommy that the coat is as good as ruined.

“I liked that coat,” he says with a put-upon sigh.

“Fucking hell, mate, I’m sure you can afford a new one,” says Alfie; “what you can’t afford, though, is to keep up this prissy attitude.”

“I don’t know what you’re – ”

Alfie grabs Tommy around the throat, squeezing until there’s no breath left for the lies. “Right. So this fucking thing won’t go away no matter how fucking much you purse your lips and turn up your nose, all right?” he snarls into his face. “You are a fucking omega, Tommy, that’s that, yeah, and sometimes your omega needs things, right, and you’d better forget about your pride and let it have those things or you can fucking get out of my sight and never show your face again, because next time I see you, I will fucking shoot you in the face, mate. Your pretty, pretty face. Got that?”

Alfie releases him and takes a step back, breathing heavily, leaving Tommy to sway unsteadily on his feet.

“There are some things that you can’t control, Tommy,” he adds angrily. “Shocking, I know. But I’m not keeping you here, am I, so feel free to fuck off, mate. I’ll unbolt the door and even give you a good kick down the stairs. You can clear off right this fucking minute for all I care, but you’d better not be crawling back here ever again.”

“For fuck’s sake, Alfie,” mutters Tommy as he begins to unbutton the collar of his shirt. “I’m not leaving, am I?  _ Jesus Christ... _ ”

He finds that it’s easier to undress in the dark; though, at this point, having as few layers between them as possible is certainly a priority, so maybe it’s not the dark. On the other hand, it’s keeping the focus off all the changes that have recently started taking place, shaping his body into something he doesn’t recognize nor want to acknowledge, so, maybe, it is.

“About bloody time,” says Alfie when Tommy is standing naked before him.

Alfie grabs him by the hips and brings him flush with his fully-clothed body, which Tommy thinks is unfair, but he’s not about to complain when Alfie’s fingers sink into his flesh, his rings digging into his skin and his mouth covering his. Tommy closes his eyes and gasps into the kiss that all but devours him, clutching Alfie’s shoulders and clinging onto him.

Tommy’s skin is burning everywhere Alfie’s touch lands; his mouth is plundered for his every last moan and breathless gasp that he’s willingly giving up, pressing himself closer and closer into his furnace-like heat, blindly looking for something, tangling his fingers in Alfie’s previously unbuttoned shirt and pushing it out of the way.

It seems almost incomprehensible that at one point they have to stop for something as mundane as breathing when they are so close to something that feels almost like an epiphany. Their foreheads are pressed together as they catch their breath. Their hands, on the other hand, continue to roam the expanse of exposed skin; their fingers, operating on a tangled mess of memories they’ve already created, press into particularly sensitive spots, drawing out soft hisses and wrecked moans of pleasure.

Tommy’s mind isn’t working properly but his need seems to have taken over, telling him what to do next. So before long he’s pushing Alfie towards the couch and clambers on top of him before Alfie starts grumbling about being pushed about and shoved around in his own house for the sake of principle. Tommy knows for a fact that Alfie doesn’t mind having him on his lap. Honestly, he would be a fool not to appreciate a lapful of naked Tommy, writhing and rubbing against him in a frenzy of lust.

It’s a miracle that he hasn’t started talking yet, Tommy thinks. He might be half out of his mind with need but that is significant enough in and of itself to take a note of, mainly, because it means that Alfie isn’t unaffected either, which is as close as Tommy will ever get to having an upper hand under the circumstances.

Tommy begins to work on Alfie’s trousers next. His fingers seem to know what to do without much prompting and from there it’s just a matter of seconds as he lifts himself up and sinks onto Alfie’s cock.

There aren’t many perks to being an omega but being slick and ready to take an alpha at any given moment is definitely one of them.

“Fucking hell…” hisses Alfie just as Tommy takes hold of his mouth and rides him at a manic pace. 

Alfie’s hands are back on his hips in a desperate attempt to keep him from falling, leaving marks and indents that will bruise by morning.

They’re coming at the same time, trembling and shaking and cursing and gasping for air. Tommy didn’t realize that two people could pant so loudly. His arms and legs are wrapped around Alfie, his face buried in the crook of Alfie’s neck. Alfie’s hands are lazily stroking every part of him he can reach. Gradually, their breathing slows down and they resume their previous position with Tommy's head once again lying on Alfie’s chest.

“For your information, I could control it for years until you came along and screwed it all up,” he says conversationally, thinking that he wants to smoke but feeling too boneless to stretch out his hand towards his ruined coat to fish out his cigarette case.

Alfie snorts. “You came to me, sweetie.”

Tommy scoffs. “You sent me a telegram.”

“Nah, mate, was curious, wasn’t I? Got wondering if you had a death wish or something. Thought, right, maybe I should show you mercy by granting it.”

“And yet you chose to fuck me instead,” notes Tommy dryly; “which brings us to our current predicament.”

“Predicament, eh?” echoes Alfie, sounding amused.

“Alfie, we are very bad men and we are about to bring a terrible menace into this world. I can only imagine what havoc she’s going to wreak.”

Tommy freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth. To Alfie’s credit he doesn’t break the rhythm as he continues to stroke him.

“She, Tommy?” he asks a heartbeat later.

Tommy swallows; whispers: “Polly says it’s a girl.”

Alfie chuckles. “Well, the way I see it, mate, is this: if this world isn’t ready for our daughter to make an appearance, right, then it bloody well deserves to be wrecked.”


End file.
